A Bird In The Hand
by Archaeobee
Summary: Jack and Will are stuck together in jail for one night. The pirate is delusional, the blacksmith is uptight. And the conversation...? Rated for some language.


**Author's Note:** Something completely random I wrote during a bored spell in English class (ironic, I know). No plot. No point. Just pure Jack fun.

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_**A Bird In The Hand**_

_By Dream Descends_

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"It was never clear," Jack enunciated slowly, pointing a thoughtful finger in Will's direction. "_How_, exactly, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

They were the only two occupants of the Port Nassau jail that particular evening. It would take too long and infuriate too many overly righteous, well-spoken, snugly trousered blacksmiths to properly elaborate on the situation that put them there, but needless to say it was, for the most part, Jack's idea.

An angular shaft of moonlight stretched through the one tiny window at the end of the cell row. Underneath it, the prison guard was slumped across his chair; drool dripping out the side of his mouth as he snored sporadically.

The shadows of the cell bars spread across the grubby dirt floor like stripes, decorating an otherwise colourless chamber. The filth covering the ground was actually soil mixed with sand, which was to be expected in a port—but not at all enjoyed. Clouds of dust blossomed up from their legs each time Jack or Will shifted position, drying their throats and drifting up their nostrils, coating their tongues with a layer of foul-tasting slime.

With a groan, Will squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the brick wall of his cell, opposite from Jack's. The strikingly acidic odor of inmates past was making his stomach churn. "It's only a saying, Jack."

"Is it?"

The former blacksmith's eyelids snapped open as his head whipped around to face his companion. "What—yes—of course it's a saying. That's why everyone _says_ it," he explained, calmly enough. "You've even said it."

Jack rolled his eyes and replied in exasperated tones, "That doesn't imply I know what it _means_."

"Jack."

"Yes, Will," he inquired sweetly, gracing the younger man with a winning smile.

"Shut up."

There was a tense pause, and then Jack said, "So you don't know what it means either, then."

"Of course I know what it means," Will snapped.

"Uhuh," Jack replied, examining his nails skeptically.

"You're just saying that so _I'll_ tell _you_."

Jack grinned. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you."

"It means," Will growled, "That it's better to have something in certainty rather than taking a risk to get more."

Jack frowned in contemplation. "Are you su—"

"Very sure," Will assured him tersely.

"You don't think it might—"

"No, I don't."

"Ah."

In the silence that followed, Will massaged his temples and Jack drew various stick figures in the dirt. The guard by the door snorted intrudingly every now and then.

"I always thought it were about me."

Will gazed tiredly over at his cohort, who continued to casually sketch sand people. In the earlier years, Will might have asked _'whatever gave you that idea?'_ or _'are you mad?'_ But he was wiser now. He knew the former was pointless and the latter was quite obviously true.

When Will said nothing, Jack continued.

"'Cause it's a _bird_, and my name's _Sparrow_, and I reckoned some kindly admirer was tryin' to tell people that getting their hands on me was worth more than catching, you know, a pair of pirates."

Will gawked at the man's absolutely ridiculous logic. "Why would someone make up a saying about _you_?"

Jack shrugged modestly. "I'm quite famous, you know."

"Why wouldn't they just say, '_That Jack Sparrow is worth more than a pair of pirates'_?" Will persisted irritably.

"I bloody don't have the answers to everything, mate!" Jack retorted. "Maybe 'e was a poet, or a philosopher, or someone who makes riddles for a living!"

"_That's not even a real job!_"

"Oh, and blacksmith _is_," the pirate said mockingly.

Will threw his hands up in frustration. "I won't even dignify that statement with an answer."

"You're just upset because I could be right," Jack said wisely.

"There is no plausible way that your definition is correct."

"So you admit there is an implausible way."

"Jack," Will started, as patiently and gently as he could. "It's a proverb made up centuries ago. Before you were even born. Excluding time travel, there is, quite plainly, no way the man who said it was talking about you."

"You of all people should know that anything is possible."

"_You're_ saying you went back in time and had someone make up an aphorism about you. This, from the man who only a moment ago didn't even know what it meant?"

"Will," Jack said kindly. "Have you ever heard the saying, '_anything is possible_'?"

"You just said it."

"Yes, but have you?"

Will put his head in his hands. "Why," he inquired sarcastically, "Was that one about you too?"

Jack opened his mouth to reply when the guard stirred, and, wiping the drool off his face, sat up in a daze. The man glanced around, appearing baffled, then centered in on his two prisoners. "Ah," he grunted in satisfaction. "Still here then?" With a wheezy chuckle, he slapped on his hat and gave them a wide toothy grin.

"We'll continue this discussion later," Jack muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Will clenched his fists.

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FIN

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End file.
